Autumn in the Wind
by Divertimento
Summary: Covers the various relationships between Souji and company circa 1862 to 1868. Reverse chronology. Lots of Hijikata. Some slash. Chapter 5: The Fateful Encounter. Sequel to Morning Madness. Read on as poor Toshi sets his trap in...
1. Black Cat

Summary: We know the infamous legend of the black cat. Here's yet another take on why Souji did what he did. Probably the darkest of my PMK fics, the others would be much lighter...

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Disclaimer: Same old.

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**BLACK CAT**

You tried to control yourself. All the iron discipline of determined survival told you what to do – close your eyes, breathe deeply, shut out the angry thoughts, remember only survival. It had been practiced before in so many everyday affairs. Apparent contentment, apparent uproarious pranks were surface ripples, creating no real disturbances, no disturbance in depth. You grew to know how… But sometimes the discipline does not, cannot, work. The fury, the agony builds up until it bursts all controls, and you are defenceless against all the rushing, blood-surging, damaging emotions which sweep through you and will eventually destroy you.

Souji remained quite rigid. The black cat, all too aware of his agitation, looked at him and yawned and tried to settle beside him. It gave no outward sign of any triumph it might be feeling. Could he plead? Could he lower himself to plead with this vile creature?

"Innocent," he said. "Nothing. He has done nothing. Leave him alone." Souji stopped and tried to get his breath, he could not. It had left him.

The creature said: "A pity, Mibu-wolf, that I will never let Tetsu live the way he wishes to. It will be too easy to kill him. Oh! When I am done with him, he would probably be begging me to kill him. Now, wouldn't that be lovely?"

"Stop!" The cat was getting off the bed. "I'll not live another day. You know that. I'll never live another day. I've been looking forward to this so long…"

"I don't want your life, filthy wolf," The creature came back, rubbing its sinuous body against his arm. "Yours is worth even less than Tetsu's. And you should close you window on such a fine day. We don't want more of your Tokugawa filth in this beautiful new era, do we?"

He gasped, swallowed, took in air just in time. "Kondou-san… Hijikata-san… The battles… They're winning. I know. I _know_. I've seen the plans. How could I be wrong?"

"You're wrong, wolf, and Kondou Isami's dead. I personally made sure his head was hung where no one could miss it. And I'll see you rot in this room before I forget how Sensei was murdered in cold blood."

Then the hatred was plain on both sides, on that of the normally spirited, humorous, contented man, on that of the wispy ball of black fur hissing on the bed.

"Personally!" Souji said in a new soft voice; he passed a shaky hand over his face and laughed.

The cat stood very still, the hairs on its back bristling. Souji's laughter was cold, and his voice was all at once oddly different, soft and sibilant but with a new force behind it.

"Personally!" The voice continued, laughing. "Poor Suzu-kun! You should have tormented me _personally_ when you had the chance. Instead," the voice choked and spat to get the words out, "you wasted all those years on someone who had no part in this. How do you feel, Suzu-kun? How do you feel now?"

His life may be far spent, but Souji had sight enough to perceive that for the moment his puny shot was stinging. Although he was going down, he would continue firing to the end. That shot had told. And one last shot remained.

"How do you feel? All alone in the world. No one trusts you and everyone hates you," Souji stroked the smooth black coat; the cat twisted and bared its fangs but the vicelike grip remained. "After all these years, you lose your only chance to avenge your sensei..." His hands tightened on the supple back.

The cat dug its claws into the bony arms of the former Shinsengumi captain, now a shivering, smelly, shrivelled mess. He was a pitiable sight, twisting and choking, his lips blue, some last flush of blood in his cheeks, eyes wild and maddened by grief. The unearthly wail was deafening: for a moment Souji thought it was the cat. Then he realised that it was limp in his hands, its body twisted at an impossible angle.

The slam of the flimsy screen door shook the room and the bird in the cage by the window twittered in fright. Souji sank back in his futon. Someone removed the broken carcass and gently cleaned his mutilated arms. Was it his sister? He thought he heard Tetsu's voice, but he couldn't be sure.

* * *

And in Kyoto, Suzu walked slowly through the house, with no expression on his face but something in his mien which made servants shrink away from him as he passed. 

He had killed his viper. He had given it, he knew, a mortal wound. But as he took his foot from its neck it had turned and bitten him in the heel. And the venom it had left behind was working. He went into his room and lounged in his favourite rug. Not for the first time in his life he felt ill and unsure of himself. The spread of the poison was slow but steady.

It might be that he would die of it. It might be that others would die of it. He did not know and only time would reveal the extent of the poison…

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He sat by Souji many hours that day. They did not talk much, for Souji was delirious. Often he forgot where he was, and sometimes he whispered of his childhood. For the first time, Tetsu saw into his heart, although only through such short phrases as these: 

"I am not a child – I am stronger than you can ever be." And he said, "Don't beat me – I will be more careful next time, I will not spill the tea again… … Hijikata-san, I promise I will never cry again. Never… … My name is Soujirou, not Souji. Stop calling me that… … I am the only son of the Okita family of Shirakawa… … I am not a girl… …" And he said again and again, "Father – Mother – Ane-ue," and "I know very well that I am cursed with this gift and should not be born."

When he said this Tetsu took his hand and held it – a hand calloused by years of training, cold and stiff as if it were already dead. Now that no one would see him, he turned his back to the screen door and cried bitter tears.

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In spite of his years of living on the temple grounds, Souji had little convinced belief in a future life, so he clung to this one with a rare tenacity, trying to marshal the last ebbing forces and see perhaps tomorrow. With imminent death one never looked far ahead. The marathon horizons of youth and ideals narrowed and shortened into the hurdles of illness. If he could see tomorrow he would have made the next objective. Control was everything; quiet the heart, regulate the breathing, relax the mind. Forget the anger, ignore the grief, concentrate on only one thing, the necessity of the next breath, of simple survival. 

But this time he had gone too far. The shock of the disclosure, the overwhelming fury which had possessed him, had in a few minutes consumed the last fuel in his wasted body. This was not faintness; he knew it was something more. It would not do to be taken ill now, for in a few moments Kondou-san would be here to take him to the ceremony. There would be some feasting later on, and a few bottles of sake. He must subdue the nervous stomach, though Sannan had said it was normal. After all, how many, even within the ranks of the samurai, achieved Menkyo Kaiden at the age of seventeen? He must get up. He tried to move his legs and could not. The sensation had gone out of them. He gritted his teeth and moved a hand. That at least was still his.

A corpse was in the room. That sick-pungent smell of warm blood. He had seen so many such. Whose was this? They had all looked so composed but so small in death. They had fallen about him all these years.

Yes, he was filthy, infinitely filthy, that's why he was obsessed with cleanliness. No song is purer than that sung in the depths of hell. Souji wondered if the complicating factor was not much more basic. If he was alienated from his home, his surroundings, his family, he was also a stranger in his own body. Shame walked with him from early on: it would have been better if he had not been born at all. And he thought again and again: "Father – Mother – Ane-ue – where are you now?"

He lifted his hand up to his eyes and wiped the mist and the corpse away. The warm sunlight flooded into the room, the life-giving sunlight that had no life to give back to him. The gentle scented breeze, the shadow of moving leaves, the flutter of birds, these might all have helped him at another time. Five more days until he was twenty-one, and they were disappointed that he had not turned out more manly. Someone, too, another captain, had jokingly told him that even the women of Shimabara had more balls than him. But that wasn't what Hijikata-san had said. Hijikata-san had said many beautiful things. But why wouldn't he let him shave his head?

Death came like a rising tide, inch by inch, putting his body to sleep. Soon there was no stomach, then there was no breathing left. He did not gasp for breath for he no longer needed air. For the last time, seeing its approaching extinction, his brain came clear again. What had he said? Where is Hijikata-san? _He needed to be warned about Suzu._ He had not meant to betray Tetsu. What had he said?

His head was sinking sideways on the futon. Someone straightened it. For a moment that was better. But then the light began to go, the warm, milk yellow sunlight of spring. The beamed ceiling smeared and blurred. He could not close his mouth: he had tried to and failed. His tongue stopped. But one hand still slowly moved. Another pair of hands nudged up to it and enveloped it in a gentle grasp. The sensation made its way from his fingers to his brain. It was the last feeling left. The fingers moved a moment in the warm hands. Hold me, hold, they said. Then quietly, peacefully at the last, submissively, beaten by a stronger will than his own, his eyes opened and he left the world behind.

And a gentle breeze lifted the curtains and told that a current of air had passed.

**The End **

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Any comments on the above? Yes? No? Anyone found the last part confusing? It is supposed to be confusing: the reader is supposed to be as muddled as poor Souji. I would find other alternatives to writing such death scenes refreshing, so do send me ideas, or even better, write them and publish on ff. I know Souji is supposedly very close to Toshi, but Toshi wasn't there when he died, period. The big question is why. 

The fic turned out quite different from what it was first conceived to be. It was supposed to end at the first part. But it went on and on.

And on and on… Why? Well… I am telling the story backwards and Black Cat is just the start. Better to have some form of organisation. I will probably end it at 1862. Yes. That's the title of the last story. 1862. Erm.

Please review if you reading this, all 127 of you. The number is quite constant, I realise. I think it is because of the small number of fics in PMK. Everyone reads everything, but there are so few reviews!


	2. What It Should Have Been

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone here, not now, not ever.

**Summary: **The prequel to Black Cat, but chronologically, it is the second fic. Tetsu makes his way to Edo bearing a precious burden. Set in Edo, April 1868. Enjoy.

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**What It Should Have Been**

That evening, Tetsu started down through the hills and forest surrounding Edo on the last leg of his journey from Kyoto. It was almost night when he came within sight of the huge stone fortress built in the sixteenth century, reinforced later with the massive city wall that surrounded Edo.

Edo did not look too bad considering the ravages of war it had undergone. Outsiders with any kind of sense stayed out of Edo but Tetsu was competent and had been seen frequently enough over the past months, and he was gratified to be greeted now and then as he jogged down the sloping path toward the hospital.

This was simply to buy time.

It was true, of course, that Okita-san was ill. Blooms of scarlet where tiny blood vessel walls had breached and spilled their contents under his skin bruised the man's whole body. In addition, the combined effects of consumption, blood loss and exhaustion almost always kept him asleep twenty hours of the day. Now, however, Okita-san was sitting in the far corner of the common room, eyes closed. Tetsu shouted and waved to Okita-san and then to Hotaru, who smiled and made for the kitchen. Stopping just a few steps from his mentor, Tetsu sat cross-legged and folded his arms across his chest. He smiled up at Hotaru as she handed him the tea and then pulled a long swallow, Souji watching him peaceably from across the low table.

"You look tired," Tetsu remarked.

Souji shrugged expressively, momentarily an ancient Obaasan. "So what else is new?"

"You don't eat enough," Tetsu said. This was an old routine.

"Yes, mum," Souji acknowledged obediently. Hotaru was already on her way from the kitchen with a bowl of steaming soba. Tetsu balked as it was placed in front of him.

"Hotaru-san," he said to the petite lady in mock dismay, "how could you forget about poor Okita-san here?"

"Yes! Yes! I want a bowl too!" Souji chimed in, his dark head bobbing vigorously.

Hotaru glanced worriedly at her charge, "But… Okita-sama…" He flashed a brilliant smile, complete with a roguish wink.

Tetsu stared as Hotaru bowed and returned to the kitchen with an inexplicably sad expression on her face. "Strange girl, huh?" he huffed.

"So. You have come all this way to feed me soba?" Souji asked.

"Somebody has to do it. Listen, I have a problem."

"Don't worry, Puppy-boy. I hear the Old Demon has some herbs which can really take care of that."

"Shinpatt-san," Tetsu said, wolfing a bite. Souji shook his head. "Not Shinpatt-san? Wait. Harada-san!" He paused as Souji shook with silent laughter. "Right. Be serious for a moment. Have you ever thought of taking a wife?"

Souji sat up straight, eyes narrowed to slits, his left hand held coquettishly over his mouth. Patronising now: "I presume you do not refer to the dishonourable practice of carrying on clandestine affairs. Yes. I have indeed considered it."

"Really?" Tetsu gaped, his cheeks stuffed with food. "I didn't know that."

"There's a lot you don't know, brat," Souji grumbled around a chopstick stuck between his teeth. It was the Demon, marred only by a barely perceptible nasal tone that persisted during the quicksilver transformations.

Tetsu, who mostly ignored Souji's private games, continued with his meal. "So why did you drop the idea?" he asked, after they had eaten in silence for a little while. Souji pushed his unfinished bowl aside and slumped against the wall again. "The idea of marriage, I mean. They gave me command of your unit. Saya will have my guts if I agree and Hijikata-san will have them if I don't, so what's the difference? Maybe I should go for historical immortality and devote my life to the cause. What do you think, Okita-san?"

Souji let him roll. Tetsu generally reached his own conclusions by talking, and Souji was accustomed to confessional musing. Instead, he wondered how Tetsu could eat so fast and still talk without sucking food into his windpipe.

"So what do you think, Okita-san? Should I agree?" Tetsu asked again, finishing off his soba. He waved to Hotaru for a second helping. "You want another?"

Souji shook his head. When he spoke this time, it was in his own voice. "Hold out for a while. Until you have sorted this out with Saya-chan, any doubt or hesitation on your part may get you and the whole unit slaughtered on the battlefield. And if that happens, you're immortalised as mediocrity." Then he was gone again, and Hajime-san appeared as his dopey self, drawling, "Yes, as mediocrity."

Tetsu frowned, his face furrowed in concentration as he took in the advice. He gazed questioningly at the other man. "So who did you consider?"

"Consider?"

"Taking as your wife."

"Someone we know."

Tetsu's eyebrows shot up. "And the person visited the Headquarters regularly?"

Unexpectedly, Souji laughed. "Remotely."

"Was it good?" Tetsu asked after some hesitation.

"Yes. Quite. It was an_ interesting _experience."

Tetsu stared at him, suddenly suspicious. When Okita-san said interesting, it was often code for bloodcurdling. He waited for an explanation but Okita-san simply settled into the corner, smiling enigmatically.

"Tetsu-kun, how is Kondou-san? It was months since I last saw everyone. I miss them."

Tetsu fixed his gaze on the clenched fists hidden under the table. "They are fine, Okita-san, they miss your company too." He glanced at Souji and smiled weakly. "Hijikata-san told me to pass this to you. He expressly forbade any sharing of its contents, on the pain of seppuku."

Souji stared wordlessly at the Book, and then nodded. "I understand."

There was silence for a little while as Tetsu turned his attention back to his soba.

He flipped through the Book; there were new entries.

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The next time Tetsu looked up, it was he who smiled. _Down for the count. _He sat a while longer, thinking, and then went quietly to the kitchen. "Watch him while he eats, alright, Hotaru-san? Otherwise he'll give the food away to some kid." Hotaru nodded, wondering if Tetsu noticed that he himself had just eaten half of Souji's meal. "I'll try to be back in a few weeks," he continued, oblivious. "Please take care of him, will you?" 

Over in the corner, Souji said, mingling sarcasm with affection. "Yes, mum."

He waited until the footsteps had faded into the night. It was getting harder. The light was too much. He closed his eyes again, trembling badly now. "Ho – hotaru?" he managed to hold on until she got him a basin, and when the sickness passed, he had no idea who took him to his room but before he fell asleep, he said to no one in particular, "I can't do anything for them."

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The breathing had steadied now and Hotaru knew that exhaustion had finally taken hold. She tried to be alert to their onset, but Okita-sama hid a great deal. This time the pain had come screaming in with startling suddenness, and no wonder: to sit and read the book like that, to minutely observe, analyse the tiniest reaction for what clues might be given away. 

She had seen this kind of thing before – the body punished for what the soul could not encompass. Sometimes it was a dull ache, as with Okita-sama. Sometimes excruciating back pain, or chronic stomach trouble. You saw it in the alcoholics, often, drinking to dull the sensitivity, to mute the hurt. So many people buried the soul's pain in their bodies, she thought, running her fingers through her beloved's damp hair. Even people who, one would have thought, might have known better.

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That night, for the second time in as many nights, Hijikata Toshizo had trouble falling asleep. 

He used this tent gratis because it was set slightly apart from the rest of the camp; no one else knew about his wound and Hajime was doing a good job stifling the overwhelming sense of mindless despair. Tonight, alone as always in the little tent, Toshi stared at the patched ceiling made beautiful by moonlight reflected off the ground, and listened to the hypnotic sound of the breeze. He knew sleep would not come easily and did not close his eyes to coax it.

He had been prepared, to some extent, for nights like the one he had passed the previous evening. "There's a lot going on in this world," Sannan had warned him once. "Sometime, somewhere, we will have to experience a crushing defeat. Count on it, my friend." So even before the battle of Toba-Fushimi, he understood that he would have to reckon with such a failure. He no longer denied the turmoil it aroused in him; he simply accepted the fact.

_But Kat-chan…_ Where is he now? What are they doing to him? Is he even alive? He closed his eyes, his head throbbing slightly at the onslaught of agonising thoughts.

_The river is dead._

_And the sun deprived of light_

_With spreading darkness._

What wouldn't he give to have his Book with him right now?

Lying there that cool April night, he felt no bitterness, he was aware of no regret. He felt as alone in the world as ever.

He slept, after that. Sometime just before dawn the next morning, he had a dream. He was sitting in the dark, in a small place. He was alone and it was very quiet and he could hear himself breathing, the blood singing in his ears. Then a door he had not suspected was there began to open: and he could see a flare of light beyond it. He thought he could hear familiar voices – Kat-chan's muffled by his fist, Sannan's quiet even tone in contrast with Harada's loud, harsh voice. Souji's laughter. He found himself moving towards the source of merriment.

The dream first sustained and then haunted him for the rest of his life.

**The End

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I am sorry for the delay in updating. A disgustingly problematic fic, this. And there is not even a decent plotline. I admit, I have a lot of problem figuring out what Souji is thinking half the time, and have thus come to the following conclusion: he really is quite insane. _Nods. _

You would notice that Souji imitated several PMK characters in the fic. Prizes for guessing the identity of the characters. No prizes, though, for Saitou and Toshi.

Hotaru is definitely OOC: she has matured! I would assume she has outgrown her crush, but she still idolises him.

Thanks to Fignae for bothering to go through the fic draft thingy a few weeks ago. I was pretty lazy in between. Big shout going out to you: Hope you are doing well now! _Waves._

As usual, please do take pity on the poor author and review. I am so parched!


	3. Haiku: Summer

**Disclaimer**: The usual. I own the title.

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**SUMMER**

They were outside the great gate of Kyoto, and all the crowd was gone. Before them lay broad green fields, and a rough sandy road stretching brown-gold into the distance with a wood beyond. The voices from the city died away. Somewhere a lark sung in the summer sky; a blue sky, patched here and there with puffy fair-weather clouds, the sun high amongst them now. They turned up the sandy road and went on without breaking step, at a steady walk.

Heisuke eyed the flower in Tetsu's sash. "Oooh!" he said in a mocking falsetto. "A flower for the puppy, is it?"

Tetsu said irritably. "Leave off."

"Not as pretty as Saya, the one who gave it to you." Heisuke leaned closer, his face inches from the boy.

"As who?"

"Saya-chan. Don't you think she's pretty, then?" The lopsided grin grew wider.

"I suppose so, yes," Tetsu flushed. "I never thought about it."

Heisuke laughed, "One good thing about you, you're uncomplicated."

But Tetsu's mind had jumped backward to the tableau he had unwittingly interrupted last night. He wound a loose string thoughtfully round one finger as he walked. "I wonder what Okita-san is doing now, back there."

Heisuke snorted. "The usual, of course. The Demon is probably moping around in his room and Okita is most likely with him since he is not patrolling today." His next remark startled Tetsu. "Too bad the Demon didn't take a shine to Itou-san."

Tetsu stopped abruptly and frowned, confused. "Well, Itou-san, of course! But Hijikata-san? I thought he was – well, you know. I thought – "

"You thought the Old Demon was gay?" Heisuke roared, and half a dozen larks rocketed into the air. He put a long arm around Tetsu's shoulders, obviously tickled by the notion. "Oh, my. No-o-o. Not by a wondrous long shot. Hijikata-Toshizou," he informed him as they strolled along, "is in love with Nature and women are nature at its finest for the Old Demon! Couldn't say no if a woman came to him, and come they surely did."

"But… " Tetsu said, more confused now. "But I saw them yesterday, and he was undoing Okita-san's sash…"

"Note, if you will," Heisuke said, face grave, eyes alight, "the awe-inspiring lack of shock with which I greet your announcement."

Tetsu growled at the man he was very nearly content to call his friend. "Eat shit," he said through gritted teeth, "and die."

"Your master has had a lamentable influence on your vocabulary," Heisuke said with starchy disapproval.

They sat for a time listening to the sounds of the woods and staring at the western sky, blazing now with the colours of sundown. Heisuke seemed to be working something out, so Tetsu just waited until he spoke again.

Heisuke was concerned about how the Shinsengumi would fare after the upheaval; he did not want to see anyone hurt. Okita's all guts and brains on the outside, but there is broken glass inside that child. If he had to choose, the Old Demon is going to choose to follow through with his plans and draconian laws, and he would hate to think how Souji would take that.

I, for one, am not going to make the same mistake Sannan made all those years ago.

* * *

The object of this conversation was unaware of the extent to which the exalted state of his soul was drawing notice. Toshi was sweating buckets with Saizou curled up on his lap, radiating heat like a second sun in the late afternoon. If, instead of assuming that he was meditating on the future of Japan or synthesising some new forms of torture for the Choshu members, anyone had asked him directly what he was thinking about, he would have said, without hesitation, "I was thinking that I could really use a drink of tea." 

A tea and peaceful quiet as he worked, that would have been perfection. But even with those two elements of bliss, he knew he would never be completely happy.

Still, there was great contentment in the simplest moments. Like now: sitting in his room in the Mibu Temple, where he could relax in the afternoon while the others slept, without so many interruptions. All the screen doors were set open, which gave a pleasant sense of summer freedom.

Lulled by the afternoon heat, the stilly hum and the warm breeze, Souji would relax and Toshi would feel his breathing slow and his sweet weight settling against him. Sometimes he would simply sit and watch him sleep, enjoying the rare silence. Toshi pushed the hair off his forehead one-handedly and looked down at Souji, shifting slightly to ease the numbness in his right arm.

And he wondered, as he recently did with startling frequency, if Souji still missed his sister. Such topics were usually off-limits and deftly turned aside when brought up. Mitsu was the ideal wife: dignified, devoted, subtle, confident – in other words, a woman of true samurai descent. He loved her low husky voice; similar to Souji's, now that he thought of it, but unusual among grown men.

More than anything, he wished to know if Souji blamed him for the abject misery they had known since the move to Kyoto – endless patrols and raids that more often than not ended with bloodshed.

"Grief – where should it end?" Toshi muttered, his mind struggling sluggishly with the vague introit. He glared at the Book in the far corner of the room; he would rather be spanked a hundred times than risk waking Souji just to get to it. He tried again, his voice barely a whisper:

"Grief – where should it end?

Where the leaves go in Autumn."

He stopped, surprised at how fast he had managed to come up with two lines of a haiku. It usually took him a full afternoon to complete just one. Heartened, he started again.

"Grief – where should it end?

Where the leaves go in Autumn."

And how should he proceed from there? He frowned.

"Where the leaves go in Autumn."

"Where…"

And then Toshi realised the warm weight on his arm was gone and that the distracting prickling sensation heralding the return of normal blood circulation was starting. Souji, roused from his light nap, yawned and craned his neck to look at Toshi. "That's very poetic, Hijikata-san. Of course the trouble with leaves is, they grow again."

Toshi grunted, choosing to remain otherwise silent.

"Why, the great Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi is well and truly stumped!" he paused, a finger tapping insistently on the chin. "How about this, Hijikata-san: Plum blossoms in spring. ?"

Toshi started. What exactly is he getting at? His face, however, remained an unassailable mask of calm and logic as he puffed on his pipe. "You insufferable brat. That has no logical link to the previous lines."

Souji gazed wistfully at the courtyard. "There is a link, alright." He looked at Toshi and seemed suddenly to relax; he grinned. "There are references to plants and seasons in the second line, aren't there?"

"That's it. I'm quitting. I've had enough," Toshi declared. "It's too hot, and this has become entirely too silly."

"At least it isn't bratty," his friend pointed out, laughing.

The screen door leading to the corridor slid open and Tetsu entered surreptitiously with the made tea. "Anou, Okita-san, who were you referring to?"

"Let's see," Toshi said, reading from an invisible scroll and deliberately talking over Souji's head. "Brats. It says, Okita Souji and Ichimura Tetsunosuke. It also says here, insufferable."

Ignoring Toshi, Souji winked at Tetsu and assured him with perfect aplomb, "It's a form of endearment."

**The End

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I admit this is rather rushed too, but I tried my best given the various constraints, so gimme some feedback, yes? That would be wonderful and nice and beautiful. And heavenly.

You know what I mean.

Review! Grovels on the floor.

Anyway, this is not finished. I mean, don't you people want to know what Tetsu saw? Snickers. You decide.


	4. The Fateful Encounter

Disclaimer: Well. I don't even own their action figures. So there.

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Summary: Sequel to Morning Madness! Takes place soon after Sake (somewhere in PMK manga book 4). Read on as poor Toshi sets his trap in… 

**THE FATEFUL ENCOUNTER **

When Toshi arrived at the common room, precisely on time and bearing a crate of home-brewed sake, Itou was already there, in a stylishly patterned hakama, resplendent in a vividly coloured robe that would have fit Souji like a blanket. He shivered in spite of himself at Itou's patent pleasure in seeing him, thanked him for his compliment to his dress, and then to his hair, and not giving him any time to go further, handed the sake to Kondou and took shelter in the kitchen.

"Souji might be a little late," Kat-chan told him, patting his shoulder. "His troop has some cleaning up to do this afternoon."

But Toshi heard his voice only moments later, announcing the score, clearly pleased with the result. Then he saw Souji, sitting in the corner, hair still damp from his bath, and his eyes warmed while his face remained gravely dignified. Taking a brush from the stove, he lightly tapped the dust from it and inclined his head in a short, mock bow. "Ah. I see Souji has finished with his souji," he said with exaggerated courtesy, a parody of the uncouth youth who had so offended the other man before.

"You're back, Hijikata-san!" Souji said brightly. There were jeers and groans.

"He's been waiting for weeks to use that line," Shinpachi snorted.

"Well, I thought it was funny, Okita," Heisuke told him earnestly, as he prepared the trays, "but I have really low standards."

"As good as any, I suppose," Souji said.

Toshi looked pained, but there was a chorus of hoots from the rest of them, and Harada came into the kitchen, effectively jamming it with humanity. Shinpachi hollered for everyone to leave so he could _move_ and Heisuke pushed Harada back out into the common room, picking up the thread of an argument Toshi couldn't follow about something they evidently fought over frequently and to no useful purpose. The sake was passed around by the celebrants who laughed and ragged at one another. It was easy to feel they were all back at the Shieikan, having dinner.

As dusk deepened into night, someone suggested that Itou compose a short piece, an idea that met with universal approval. He began with a short poem, not too difficult but pretty. "I think I must be very nervous, to come up with something like this," he said ruefully, amidst encouragement mixed with good-natured ribbing. But then his eyes fell on Hijikata, sitting between Kondou-san and Okita at a little distance from the rest of them, withdrawn by choice or by nature or by circumstance. Warmed by the sake and the company, he began something he thought would be familiar to Hijikata, a very old love poem:

"Reminded of the past

By the scent of orange blossoms

The cuckoo comes to sing

At the village of falling blossoms."

The conversation trailed off and Toshi tried not to be embarrassed by the rather obvious bait. He stared blankly at far wall opposite him and took out his pipe.

"Itou-sensei, I know you adore our Fukuchou, but do try to be discreet," Heisuke said in a stage whisper. "Okita is sitting right here! The poem is really good, though, compared to what we have heard from Hiji – ummmmfff."

"Heisuke, you idiot!" Shinpachi hissed. He waved his hand haplessly as Harada clamped an iron fist over Heisuke's mouth. "Please pardon his rude behaviour, he's just his usual blunt self."

"That's right," Harada chimed in, giving another blow to the proverbial stake.

"Could we have a detailed account of what happened during the trip?" Kondou said with clumsy joviality. "I gather Itou-san had a little run-in with Toshi the other day."

Toshi lit his pipe and said, puffing. "There's not much point in going into detail. I simply felt very strongly at that point that Itou-san deserved to be pushed into the toilet shaft."

There was a muffled sob and Souji bent low over the tablet, presumably bemoaning a stubbed toe. Toshi gave him a sharp warning glance which went flickering quite over the dark head.

"The thing is, you can't always listen to one side of the story, Kondou-san," Itou said, smiling, confident of agreement. "Hijikata-san and I were having a bit of fun."

"It wasn't much fun for me," Toshi said shortly, his face darkening.

"We–ell," Itou paused, tapping the edge of his fan absently. "Whatever I might have done, it wasn't something that gets people dropped in waste shafts. That's what I want to get straight."

Kondou was looking at Itou with a kind of anxious bonhomie. "Maybe. Maybe. Toshi's still a wild one. They kick him around, he kicks back. But I'm sure he meant no harm. This kind of thing used to happen to him all the time –"

Toshi stood up and took his pipe from his mouth. "There's no need to debase yourself in my place, Kondou-san," he said clearly. "If an apology is what Itou-san wants, I am truly sorry about the unfortunate incident." The pipe went back between his teeth abruptly and he headed for the door. "If you would excuse me: I have some work to catch up on."

"Toshi, wait – Toshi!" Kondou did his best but the fragile equilibrium was shattered by the rather loud slam of the screen door.

Itou chuckled, very much the appreciative owner indulging an adorable pet. "Well! Hijikata-san is such a gentleman, isn't he? With the country in the state it is, Kondou-san, such men would be needed to defend its sovereignty."

"True, true," said Kondou, nodding vigorously. "We need to recruit more men with such ideals."

"Oh no, no," Itou said heartily, "I was speaking of the general public. I'm sure the Shinsengumi is not lacking in such like-minded warriors."

Souji raised his head and said, in a small polite voice, "I expect even Hijikata-san would want to agree with you on that. But we aren't exactly popular and our jobs are the ones most people would rather not do."

Itou looked at Souji as though he were something small and irrelevant, like a beetle. He was like an emblematic statue of all Itou thought he hated in hereditary samurai – as soft as a woman and as pointless. His jaw hardened. "One of those bleeding hearts, aren't you? Indeed, that was another point of contention during the trip."

_It was past the second watch when they retired to bed. Itou was almost always the first to fall asleep, snoring as if his body and soul had dissolved, but he would wake up several hours later and slip outside, ostensibly to relieve his bowels. Tonight, too, he rose at about third watch, taking care not to disturb his companions and went quietly down the stairs. _

_Toshi followed in the general direction of the stealthy footsteps, which led him into the passageway near the toilet, he could hear the steady fall of rain against the planks of the veranda just beyond the doors. In the blackness obliterating everything behind him, there was a gust of wind, like the flutter of a wing; he thought he saw a black shape move in the darkness. A man? An illusion? He could not tell if the image lingering in his mind was that of something real or a nightmare conjured by his eyes. It was odd that nothing more could be heard of Itou's footsteps._

_He crept down the corridor, one grave, hushed step at a time. The night-light in the toilet was lit, illuminating the small shed with a yellowish glow. The door was open all the way, pressed back against the wall, so clearly there was no one behind it. Which meant, he thought, easing back into the darkness, the bastard had given him a slip._

_There was a groan and something fell to the floor with a thud. Holding his breath, Toshi inched to one side of the corridor and, spread out like a spider, pressed his back flat against the wall; but the intruder came right after him and rammed him against the opposite wall with terrifying force. As the wind shot out of him, Toshi stumbled, trying to swing his katana. The passage was too narrow and the katana caught the wall just as the figure came thrusting into him, throwing him forward onto the floor. In one huge heave, he pounced on Toshi's back, wrapping a powerful arm around his neck. Toshi felt the palm of his attacker's hand stroking his face. He resigned himself to being stabbed at the base of his throat with a dagger, but his assailant, still gripping his neck with one arm, continued to run the other hand all over his face, as if he were licking him with his tongue. Toshi found this outrageous; the man was making sport of him, he thought. He thrashed to the side, but the more he struggled, the deeper his opponent's arm cut into his neck. _

"_Stop it!" The enemy said in a fierce whisper, straddling Toshi and holding him firmly down. "You're going to hurt yourself."_

_Like some animal that had been chased wildly through the woods and who now knew it was hopeless, Toshi lay there completely still, awaiting his fate. He turned his head slightly, glanced upward, saw a somewhat familiar shape looming above him in the dark._

"_Itou-san? What are you doing here?"_

"_I told you last night: I was relieving myself. What about you?"_

_Totally exhausted, Toshi only muttered, "My neck."_

"_I'm going to let you go. Just your neck. Don't get up."_

_Toshi felt his neck released. He tried to move, but could not. Itou was still straddling him, sitting on his back. _

"_Get off."_

_Itou gently rubbed the back of Toshi's neck. "You all right, my friend? All calmed down?"_

"_Get off me!" Toshi tried in vain to brush off the hands that were taking full advantage of the situation at hand._

"_Not until you calm down. I don't want you jumping up and getting all excited. I don't want any problems."_

"_Alright," Toshi forced himself to say. "I'm alright."_

_Itou lifted himself off, and then Toshi flipped to the side, rolling onto his back. He got on his feet, staring at the dark figure of Itou, who now crouched not two feet away, bulky and shapeless in the half-light, an unexplored continent. Toshi demanded, "Didn't you see the katana? I could have killed you."_

"_I had my arms around your neck. I could have killed you too." Toshi watched in disbelief as Itou clapped a dainty hand over his mouth. "But I shouldn't state the obvious. You know, you still haven't told me why you're here."_

"_You proceed with your nocturnal routine after making sure your companions are asleep and now you see me here. What a big coincidence."_

"_My!" Itou moaned. "You followed me?"_

"_A brilliant conclusion. You really are sharp. No wonder you hold the post of Military Advisor."_

"_Oh, I really don't know what to make of this," Itou continued, ignoring Toshi's last statement. "You were actually willing to impair your dignity and honour as a samurai by wriggling through this discourteous bypath just to reach me?"_

"_I never said that." Toshi said at once, his eyebrows bristling._

"_No, you wouldn't, would you?" Itou waved a hand dismissively. There was a pause. "At this point, I hope to be forgiven for raising a rather indelicate subject. It is said that noblemen generations past never allowed anyone to see their excretory matter. There is the story of the beautiful Heian court lady who tantalised a suitor with a copy of her faeces fashioned out of cloves… …"_

_And how could he make sure that he would never get to hear that slimy voice again? A simple matter – such delicacy could be accomplished by killing Itou and then dumping the body into the deep shaft under the toilet. Surely there is no more elegant method for disposing of such waste. As Toshi started to draw his katana, Itou move forward. Toshi flinched. He stood quite stiff as he felt Itou's arm wrap around his back and embrace him tightly. _

As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered, and sound and movement stopped for much more than a moment. Everyone looked at Itou in wonderment, taking in the changes, visible and implied. Then Kondou broke the spell. "It's amazing! Toshi didn't kill you!"

"Thank you," Itou said comfortably. "That was precisely what triggered the incident. Then again, one should not reward brutality likewise; vicious cycles are hard to break."

"I can't believe it," Kondou barked a laugh. He leaned back, the surprise was so great. "You must be joking!"

Itou beamed. "Things like that happen, if you wait long enough. And with regards to your last statement, the old ones are always the best."

And so the evening went.

* * *

"'Old ones are always the best'?" Harada said later, after making sure they were out of earshot. "Was he referring to jokes or… _men_?" His choked-back laughter brought the word out in a half-shriek. 

"Both," Heisuke said, unembarrassed. "Turned out that Hajime-san was pretty lonely for much of the trip."

Shinpachi laughed. "Listen to this, Heisuke, Harada. You'll love this. Hajime-san slept with his katana throughout that time." His eyes bulged with disbelief. "He thought it worked!" And they howled.

"Behave yourselves," a vaguely familiar voice said amiably from behind them. "The Fukuchou may be old, but he is not deaf."

"Eeeeh?" Shinpachi turned his head, a tinge of panic in his tone. "Hajime-san… we were just – "

"Yes, I heard some of it," Hajime said. He propped himself against a wooden pillar. "I must say I think you should be wary of over-reaching yourself."

"Mutiny," said Heisuke solemnly. "A shameful state for a samurai. A disgrace to the Shinsengumi."

Shinpachi glared at him. "There you stand, saying things that are even _less_ – " he began indignantly, then stopped when he heard a giggle.

"Slow," said Saitou. "Very slow."

"Oh, it's you, Okita," Shinpachi said, his face red and his mind ready to take the conversation off on a tangent. "Whatever became of the little pipe-thing that Hotaru girl gave you? Did you lose it? You never even gave it one good blow."

"I still have it," Souji said quietly.

"Well, get it out. We could have fun with it."

"One day." Souji swung the lit lantern round, pressing its handle into Shinpachi's unready hands. "Here – your turn. I've done the day shift, now you do the night."

"That's the rule," Harada nodded, slapping his neck to kill an errant mosquito. "Fair's fair. Share the burden."

"My burden's bigger than his," Shinpachi moaned.

"Nonsense," Hajime said, expressionless.

"Well, it is, actually," Souji said. "We measured, once. On average more rebels are captured and killed at night."

"Makes it easier to get them," said Heisuke, taking off one slipper and shaking it to remove the sand.

"That makes more work, not less." Shinpachi drooped, more dolefully still. "More casualties."

Souji bent over the pen and put the grunting Saizou in for the night. "Goodnight, Shinpatt-san," he said cheerfully.

"Let's go," Heisuke said. "Before Shinpachi bursts into tears."

Grinning, Harada picked up his protesting friend and prodded Heisuke up the dusty path; Souji was starting back to his own room when he realised Saitou had not moved. Amused, he sighed and gazed at him expectantly.

Hajime smiled. "Is it that obvious?"

"No," Souji assured him, serious now. "It's just that I've seen you with Hijikata-san a few times before the trip, and I put two and two together."

"It wasn't a case of believing anyone, but of what I happened to see for myself."

"Does that make a difference?"

"To speak plainly," Hajime said, "I am not altogether sorry. Itou was doing a lot of harm. He got mixed up."

"Mixed up?"

"Yes."

"Have you any idea what?"

"The night of the fateful encounter, someone was waiting for him outside at the second watch. Itou did not meet up with him because he knew the Fukuchou was shadowing him." Hajime drew out a brocade bag from his robes. "I found this strapped to his shoulder."

Souji took the bag. It contained a tiny enshrined image of Kannon, and wrapped about the shrine was a letter in a graceful hand. The letter was as follows:

_To Kashitarou:_

_You are to proceed as planned, but try not to take their lives. Remember the goal. If you accomplish this for me, it will be an act of the greatest devotion._

The letter was re-folded and thoughtfully replaced in the bag. "And the man. Did he say anything?"

"No. He pressed his lips tightly and shut his eyes. I would have asked who sent him but he drew a hidden dagger and killed himself." Hajime said, his voice grim. He stood looking at his companion. At length, Souji said, a broad smile on his face.

"And why are you telling me this? Hijikata-san would let me know himself if he needed my help."

The silence lasted a little too long to give credence to Saitou's next remark. "I know it would not change anything but I thought it would be better if you understood." Souji made a face as Hajime went on doggedly. "The Shinsengumi's work is difficult enough. Hostility simply makes it harder."

Souji thought of an off-colour comment. He did not say it, but Hajime read it on his face and made a contemptuous noise, "Oh, grow up," and Souji giggled like a twelve-year-old who has just discovered smutty jokes. He looked over at Hajime and saw the unnerving eyes fastened on him. "And there is the other thing about the patrol roster." It was his calm invitation to confidence.

"Oh, yes! I will be doing the night shift with you tomorrow." The impossibly cheerful expression changed to a perplexed frown. "Is there a problem with that?"

Hajime opened his mouth. "Hardly. It's just that Yamazaki –"

"Don't say it," Souji said quickly, "don't say it! You know you can't change anything. You can only do your best in what you believe – which you did." He added, embracing him in a rueful smile. "What do you say to settling the score once and for all?"

Typically there is an icy detachment in the blanched face of the tall man, and on this occasion it is no exception. His face is long and noble, but on close inspection, the skin is pasty white and the cheeks are quite lifeless. The same is true of his proud sculpturesque nose. Above all, his eyes – long narrow slits with the pupils gleaming like needles under stately lids – give an impression of coldness as well as refined intelligence. If a person's thought could translate into his countenance, one could only guess that the loneliness, boredom and despair that Saitou Hajime suffered, were particularly severe.

Souji watched, dumbfounded, as Hajime's eyelid slid across the left eye, the other eye eerily motionless. It was a shock destined to be forgotten. "I will see you tomorrow morning at the usual place. The prize will be a bowl of soba. And don't forget what you said the last time."

"What was that?"

"Your underwear."

"No. I know that. I meant what you were doing just now. Could you please do that again?"

The eyelid dropped and rose, slow, too slow, and Souji realised that the abnormal ocular mechanism was actually a wink.

Hajime pushed himself away from the pillar and looked at him in the dark. "I am glad you know that I am trying to be funny."

"It was only harmless laughter," Souji protested as he dried the corners of his eyes.

"If there is nothing else, I am turning in for the night."

But neither of them did for a while, each thinking thoughts in the dead of the night.

* * *

What he always found most interesting about Souji while making love was his face. The movements of the two bodies seemed to be unwinding a large scroll, a captivating picture filled with turmoil, expectations, explosions, pain, sighs, emotion. But today his face remained a blank screen, and Toshi would stare at it, tormented by questions he could find no answers to: Was he bored with him? Was he tired? Was he reluctant? Was he seeing a better lover? Or was he, behind that immobile face, hiding sensations he had no inkling of? 

Of course he could have asked him.

He imagined breathing into his ear the greatest banality of all while making love: "Do you like that?" With most women, this simple query always sounded depraved. But he seemed to know Souji's response in advance: Of course I like that, he would tell him patiently. Do you think I would willingly do something I don't like? Whatever happened to your logic, Hijikata-san?

And so he remained silent while their bodies moved long and vigorously, unwinding a blank scroll.

He often resolved not to make love to him the next time. He loved Souji as an intelligent, faithful, irreplaceable friend, not as a lover. But it was impossible to separate lover from friend. Each time Souji came to see him, they would talk about things late into the night; Toshi would drink, develop theories, give instruction, and finally, when he was dead tired, Souji would suddenly fall silent and a tranquil, blissful smile would appear on his face. Then, as if submitting to an irresistible suggestion, he would touch Souji's neck, and the other man, in turn, would stand up and start to undress.

He never truly understood Souji, yet they always agreed. Each interpreted the other's words in his own way, and there was wonderful harmony between them. Wonderful solidarity based on lack of understanding.

Beside him, Souji gave a sigh and said: "Hajime-san."

"Saitou?"

"Yes," Souji replied.

"What about him? He told you everything about the trip, didn't he? Was that what he said to you just now?"

"Yes," Souji said again and Toshi knew that he had meant something entirely different.

And because he knew that Souji enjoyed expanding their agreement based on misunderstanding, he added, "And you will be seeking him out for a duel tomorrow because of his unwilling participation in this farce."

"Yes!" Souji giggled, clapping his hands enthusiastically. "An early morning practice session, in the courtyard!"

Then they dealt with various topics: the changing season, the hypocrisy of a society that cripples body and soul, their hometown. These were phrases both had heard ten, twenty, a hundred times before, and those few feet of tatami soon turned into a cocoon. Toshi was lying down, spellbound by Souji's nakedness, aroused but pretending to have no knowledge of what that arousal was summoning him to, so that it was endless and unappeasable, limited and interminable. One spoke, the other listened with unfeigned interest, and their discarded robes and daisho lay forlorn and forgotten on the yellow mats.

**… … The End … …

* * *

**

As most of my recent fics have the propensity to, this one turned out funny without the haha. In fact, it is rather queer, so to speak. Hijikata-san in a compromising position: he did keep his promise in Morning Madness after all! Ohohoho… So… Itou-sensei got his wish – even if it was for a short while.

This was supposed to be a Saitou fic, honest! He managed somehow to squirm into the background and allow Itou to hog the lights. And because my mind is mired in the depths of the aforementioned toilet shaft: all sexual puns (explicit or otherwise) are fully intended.

Please review.

Notes:

1) Refer to PMK Manga book 5 where Hijikata said something to this effect. "Souji, how can you be a son of a samurai if all you can do is souji?" Evil Toshi.

2) The poem recited by Itou was taken from the Tale of Genji. Whether it was widely circulated at this time could be a point of contention, but… just close an (both) eye(s), yes?

3) The worship of Kannon Bosatsu, or the Goddess of Mercy, probably began in Japan in the 7th century, soon after Buddhism reached Japan by way of China and Korea. In Japan, the Kannon is often depicted with eleven faces (Jyuichi-men Kannon), symbolic of shedding sweetness and mercy in all directions.


	5. Sake

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except Yoshimura.

**Summary: **Set in 1865 May. Three months after Yamanami's death. Everyone knows a good dose of alcohol does wonders for tight lips. More navel-gazing.

* * *

**SAKE**

"In our hands are nine beans

Nine beans, but more than that

We miss our parents' home –

If you miss me, child

Come and search

The autumn leaves of sorrow."

The children sang, sitting in a circle holding hands and passing the slightly crushed flower from hand to hand so that 'it' could not see the object. 'It' sat in the middle, a thick blindfold over the eyes, waiting patiently. When the song ended, a silent scuffle broke out between two children as one tried to press the flower into the hands of the other.

Souji laughed softly as he lifted the blindfold, "I wonder whose hand holds the beans now?"

The scene became more chaotic as the children shrieked and vied for the chance to have him pick them. Only one child remained silent.

"Is it you, Haru-chan?"

The child shook her head timidly: her eyes, astonishingly, were brimming. The children were silent as he took her tightly-balled fists in his. When the fists opened, she exclaimed, startled out of her short-lived misery, "Magic! Aniki can make things disappear!"

There was uproar as the children clamoured for more. Souji turned his attention to the boy next to Oharu. Rearing back in gentle surprise, Souji pulled in a little gasp and asked, wide-eyed, "Anou, what's this?" Reaching behind the boy's ear, Souji's hand suddenly revealed a flower. He glanced at the boy, whose mouth was open and ovalled, and went on to produce two more flowers from nowhere: the boy's ears turned redder than the blossoms.

The children were on their feet by this time. "Haru-chan didn't have the beans. Aniki lost!"

Souji threw back his head and laughed. "Alright," he leaned down to pull Oharu into his arms for an embrace that included all of nature. There were times like this when he almost felt as though he was an untarnished piece of crystal, clear and pristine, gathering up love like light and scattering it in all directions, and the sensation was nearly physical.

_I was born for this._ he thought, eyes closed against the bright sunshine that broke through the clouds, the child settling onto his back.

It was the simple truth. Nothing else explained his life.

* * *

That evening, he had to escort five children, the last of whom was the son of the lugubrious innkeeper who 'did' for the Shinsengumi once a week and had been born and bred in the heart of Kyoto. He had been more sullen than usual, rudely kicking a broom so that it lay across the doorway. For moment Souji was baffled, then he realised that his sleeve had lifted as he reached out his arm, and the innkeeper had seen the small knife tucked in his sash. 

So much for misplaced loyalty, he thought. He was about to continue on his way when he heard a clear voice roll out through the inn with the familiar words, a voice that Souji had never heard employed in song and yet at once recognised.

_Mother turns_

_When I beckon_

_As if to say farewell_

_There is nothing but to cry_

Souji placed the broom neatly against the door and entered the inn. The plaintive song continued:

_Oh, how sad, how sad_

_Mother unlike a flower_

_In the bed of the fading dew_

_The mirror of wisdom clouds over_

He walked down the long entrance hall, past the hostile innkeeper, to whom he made an apologetic bow. He felt as though he were walking in the air, not touching the ground at all, down the dark hall. Into the dark…

_Are you leaving? Oh, the pain._

_To the forest where I dwell_

_I shall return_

_I come for you_

Souji heard the voice shake, as if the words were right words for what was in the person's mind. He opened the screen doors before him and completed the last lines of the song.

"Across the fields and across the hills

Passing through the villages

For whom do you come? For you.

I come for you."

And he walked forward into the room, settling opposite the other occupant, who had fallen mute when Souji entered.

"I hope you don't mind some company tonight, Tatsu. Drinking can get quite lonesome after all."

* * *

It had helped to have something impersonal to talk about, to give kendo lessons, to play with the children, but they had been at this now for three hours, and he was finding it difficult to concentrate… 

The trouble with illusions, he thought as Tatsu filled his cup, is that you aren't aware you have any until they are taken from you. There had been Matsumoto-sensei, several rounds of disgustingly bitter brew. He had thrown the first few bowls onto the soil outside until Hijikata-san found out and told him flatly. "If you treated anyone else as you have treated yourself during the past three months, you would be guilty of assault. From this moment on, you will show your body the respect it deserves. You will allow it to heal and then you will embark only on sensible missions. You will eat regularly and rest properly. You will care for your own body as you would for that of a friend to whom you are indebted. You will cease to arrogate to yourself responsibility that lies elsewhere. Is that clear? In two months' time, you will report to me and we will examine in detail the missions upon which you were sent," Hijikata-san had said, his voice hardening suddenly as he pronounced each word separately, "by your superiors."

There had been a long moment, before Souji bowed deeply from where he was kneeling, hands on his knees, looking properly chastened.

What would he tell Hijikata-san when he came back from his trip to Edo? How much did he know anyway? He imagined a creature, all teeth and mouth, eating away at his lungs and wondered how he had before the destruction became too extensive and complete. He could still give his lessons, carry out his patrols efficiently, pull outrageous pranks and he had a very useful piece of cloth hidden in his robes. That was it. That was how it was going to be –

He realised then that Tatsu had spoken and a denser silence had fallen on the room. How long have I been sitting like this? he wondered. Souji reached for his cup again, stalling for time. "I'm sorry," he apologised, looking at Tatsu after a few moments. "Did you say something?"

"I found out this morning. Yohji died."

Souji was almost pleased that another news, a more serious one, should overshadow the silliness of his. "I'm sorry."

"You needn't be. You don't know him."

"You're upset after all."

"No," said Tatsu, "or rather, I'm upset that I'm not."

"And even now you haven't forgiven him?"

"I've forgiven him everything. But that's not the point. I told you about that strange feeling of joy I had when I decided, back then, not to see him anymore. I was cold as snow. Well, his death hasn't changed that feeling at all."

Souji poured the sake into Tatsu's cup. Tatsu stared at it for a while: "At the end of our last encounter, he began to reminisce. When he did that, I understood the sole meaning of friendship as it is today. Friendship is indispensable to man for the proper function of his memory. To ensure that the self doesn't shrink, memories have to be refreshed by regular contact with friends."

He swallowed a mouthful of sake. "But I don't care about what I used to do! I have always wanted something else entirely: friendship as a value prized above all else. Friendship, to me, was proof of the existence of something stronger than ideology, than nation. In the Suikoden, the heroes often find themselves on opposite sides and thus required to fight against one another. But that doesn't affect their friendship. They still go on helping one another, secretly, without giving a damn for the truths of their respective camps. They put their friendship above the truth, or the cause, above everything." He went on after a pause. "I liked to say: between life and a friend, I always choose the friend."

Tatsu fell silent, took another swallow, and came back with a new thought: "How is friendship born? Certainly as an alliance against enemies; maybe we have become such that we are strong enough to face enemies without friends."

Souji sipped from his cup and wrinkled his nose. "If that's true, that should have brought you to reconcile with Yoshimura-san."

"I freely acknowledge that he would not have understood my reproaches if I'd made them known to him. I was wrong to hope for more from him than neutrality. When my parents were killed, I was running an errand in town. We had a couple of bottles of sake and I stayed the night, too drunk to make the trip home. He kept quiet throughout. But I have to be fair: he considered his silence to be noble. He thought he had kept his promise and saved my life in a way that did not betray his ideals. So his conscience was clear, and he must have felt wounded when, inexplicably, I stopped seeing him."

"Was that the only reason?"

Tatsu wished that he had not asked that question.

"No," he said, "Yohji broke a promise we made as children years ago."

Outside, a voice called out the second watch. Eight more hours before his next patrol. Souji said half in jest: "We seem to have talked about nearly everything regarding Yoshimura-san except that promise. We'd better leave it till tomorrow night."

"You don't believe in promises, do you?"

"No. Why?"

_Why indeed. _"People wouldn't have much direction in life without promises."

"People lose their direction in life because they made certain promises."

Tatsu frowned. "Chushingura – I'm sure you are familiar with the it."

"Yes," Souji nodded. "It was Kondou-san's favourite story."

"The forty-seven roushi – drifting men, men without a master, without direction – were bound together by a simple promise to avenge their lord."

"But people change," Souji said quietly.

"Precisely. People change. Cultures change. Clans rise and fall. Which is why promises are such a tricky business. Because nothing stays the same forever." He leaned on the low table, eyes focused somewhere on the screen doors. "Maybe because so few of us would be able to give up something so fundamental for something so abstract, we protect ourselves from the nobility of a samurai's promise by jeering at him when he can't live up to them, always and forever." He shivered and slumped suddenly. "But what unnatural words! Always and forever. Those are not mortal words, Okita-san. Not even stones are always and forever."

"Until you get the measure of your own beliefs, Tatsu, don't be quick to condemn your friend, or anyone else for that matter. I'm not blaming you," Souji said hurriedly, looking a little sheepish. "It's just that, until you've been there, you can't know what it's like to hold yourself to promises you made in good faith a long time ago."

He had been speechless at that. Okita-san had a perceptiveness that shocked him sometimes. A promise is a promise, Tatsu wanted him to say, so he could be angry with Yohji and hate his father for putting his family in danger and believe that it would be different for him; that he would never run out on his wife for – what? A mere ideal? He wanted to believe that love, when it came to him, _would_ be always and forever.

And while the words rang in the air, Souji lifted his cup but only rotated it slowly in his fingers, watching the golden glow in the low light. "There is something beautiful about wanting good impulses to be permanent and true forever," he said. "And we truly mean it, at the time. But two or twenty or a hundred years down the road, who is to say if the world would be worse if things did not turn out the way we want them to?"

Tatsu asked himself how he would feel if he found out someday that Yohji had kept his vow, always and forever. To his surprise, he leaned toward sad. "I don't think you quite understand the situation."

"And did you? Could you have anticipated it?" Souji said mildly. "Maybe we would all do better not trying to understand."

"'Since the insignificance of all things is our lot, we should not bear it as an affliction but learn how to enjoy it.' That was what you meant, wasn't it?" Souji closed his eyes at the pain in the voice, and tried not to hear or think. But Tatsu came stumbling up towards him, and when he reached him he put out one shaky hand and grasped Souji by the collar.

Light glimmered around them as if the moon was in their room, yet the light came only from the lamp, burning like a cold torch. Tatsu said, "Have you always thought so? Always…" He was gazing at Souji like a man begging for his life, pleading. "Do good people suffer because it was better that way? Was there no better explanation?"

Souji said unhappily, "Better?" For the first time since Tatsu had come to know him, his voice was without conviction, seeking, lost. "Better? When Asano drew his katana in the presence of the shogun, guided by Kira's villainy, it led to his disgrace and the subsequent bloodshed; but people generations after still speak of the noble deeds of his loyal retainers. It makes life more bearable if we see that things always turn out in the best possible way under the given circumstances." He gently removed Tatsu's limp hand. "I used to avoid children because they remind me of what I could have had. What's the good in that? Unlike me, they will always be innocent, always guiltless. In my case, innocence would probably be a kind of insanity. "

And Tatsu thought: Tetsu has always spoken about how Okita-san hated killing. What exactly does it mean then? How can a person hate a thing and at the same time adapt to it so readily? Is having two faces such a triumph?

"The hell with Yohji," Tatsu said bitterly. He lurched across the room and slammed open the screen door. "You are like spies – no, like collaborators – all of you. You serve the detestable side of yourself without identifying with it, work for it while keeping separate from it, and will one day, standing before your conscience, defend yourself by claiming that you had two different faces."

He stopped in the doorway and stood there, astonished, for almost a minute, because he was still alive and breathing. He said without moving, not daring to look back. "Please… Okita-san… have a heart… Tetsu is only a child, don't let him know about this…"

"Your head is in no danger of rolling," Souji assured him with undisguised amusement. "One thing I hate about leading a squad is that almost everyone always asks permission to speak frankly. You have been a true friend to Yoshimura-san, despite what you think. Say whatever you want. And please call me Souji, we are about the same age after all."

Taken aback, Tatsu gave a short laugh, knowing himself to be utterly incapable of calling this man Souji, but then he asked, "What would you say to your conscience then?"

It was Souji's turn to be taken aback. He realised that perhaps no one – not even Hijikata-san – had any answers and that was either the most comforting thing he had learned or the most discouraging. _Patience. It will take as long as it takes._ "I have no idea. There are so few ways to assuage the sense of guilt. I suppose I would not bother to defend myself."

He stepped in front of Tatsu, standing in plain sight and waiting until Tatsu noticed him.

"Come on, Tatsu," Souji said softly. "Let's get you home."

**… … The End … …

* * *

**

Thanks to my dearest Sweet Potato for beta-reading.

This is… what? The 6th month into my Souji obsession. When I first started this series, I told myself that I would try to avoid angst. Evidently the promise was not always and forever and I soon found myself surrendering to the oh-so-lovely sensation of sliding down the slippery slope of Doom-doom-DOOM.

However, you shall pardon me for contradicting myself in the next breath. I love this fic to bits, even if no one else does. It was so frustrating, finding the right voice. I actually completed a draft for Susumu and Souji, but it didn't sound right. No, it sounded downright weird. Then I tried Souji and Saitou. The draft turned violent and I aborted it since I didn't know how to end a fight between people who can kill with sake cups if they want to. _Laughs at imagery. _So. I had to settle for a tipsy Tatsu and re-write everything. _Sighs._

Navel-gazers are _exhausting_. I think I need some time to recuperate. _Howls._ Why does it get harder to write with each fic? It is supposed to get easier, isn't it?

Next up: Itou, Hijikata and Saitou are on a looong trip to Edo. Will Hijikata keep his promise in Morning Madness? Don't read Kaze no Hikaru if you do not want to be spoilt.

Please... Review!

Notes:

1) Regarding Yoshimura Yohji, he is an OC, but this is not the first time you've read about him; nor will it be the last.

2) Suikoden: The Chinese classic Heroes of the Water Margin was first introduced to Japan in 1728. Despite its suppression by the shogunate, it remained wildly popular among the common folk. Its popularity rose to fervent levels in the dying days of the Bakufu.

3) Chushingura: Well… The 47 ronins. I am sure you know the story.

4) One must assume that this is not the first time the two characters have interacted as such. Viewed this way, the fic would make that much more sense.


	6. Morning Madness!

Disclaimer: Normal stuff.

Summary: This takes place soon after Itou joined the Shinsengumi. A little random madness never kills anyone.

* * *

**MORNING MADNESS!**

"Poor little thing," Souji sighed that morning as he lay beside Toshi, his long fingers curled around the man's limp arousal. "I don't think he gets nearly enough fun."

Toshi grunted, but at least his eyes were focused on him now. "What have you got in mind?"

"Oh," he mused, "a little variety maybe. Something special."

The entrapped member twitched in apparent agreement despite the brooding silence. Toshi's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You are always asking for favours."

Souji blew at the dark strands of hair that had fallen into Toshi's eyes. "Maybe," he said with a slight, endearing pout, "but you could always say no."

A moment of careful consideration, and then: "What is it?"

Souji sat back on his heels, the minx smile in his eyes. "I was with Sannan yesterday. It appears that Itou-sensei enjoys your company tremendously. He couldn't understand why you brushed him off repeatedly." He paused for effect. "That was very rude, Hijikata-san."

"Rude?" Toshi was incredulous. "Of course I had to be rude. Look, he's just… he's creepy." He shuddered as he recalled the times the conniving bastard made various excuses to get up close and personal with him. He scratched his neck nervously. "It's disgusting; I wouldn't touch him with a bargepole."

"Oh, I know that, Hijikata-san," said Souji, languidly rearranging his limbs to accommodate the upthrust member. Its owner grunted in appreciation as Souji's firm bottom sank slowly on his middle, making immediate contact possible. He brushed his fringe back from his eyes with a slender forearm. "What I meant was, maybe you should stop avoiding him. Itou-sensei would feel much better if you talked to him directly instead of attempting to communicate with him through Sannan as you are doing now."

"No way," said Toshi irritably, thrusting his pelvis urgently since Souji did not seem to be performing with usual dedication. "I thought you would know me better than most."

Souji looked down upon him severely. Certain muscles of his contracted. Toshi winced.

"Souji! Stop that!" The pressure eased off and Toshi gasped. "Where did you learn that trick?"

"Learn?" Souji said with a straight face. "I didn't learn that: it's a form of exercise." The corners of his mouth twitched. "One has to exercise to remain fit, no?"

"Right, so exercise." Toshi frowned. "But don't practice on me."

"Yes, sir!" Souji grinned; he leaned forward slightly, his long hair a feathery sensation on Toshi's chest. "So, when are you going to talk to him – properly?"

The frown deepened. "Sannan is handling him pretty well, isn't he? Why can't we leave things as they are now?"

"Really, you shouldn't be so uptight, Hijikata-san. Itou-sensei has approached several others as well, even Hajime-san."

"That's different," Toshi said stubbornly.

"No, it's not," Souji was equally stubborn. He swung off and stood up, rubbing his toned abdomen with one hand as he breathed in deeply. Toshi watched the filtered sunlight glisten on the pale skin and wished fervently he would get back to what he had been doing.

"I've been talking it over with Sannan, you know, and I agree," Souji was serious now. "For the Shinsengumi to remain cohesive, there must not be dissension within its ranks. And the last person you want to antagonise would probably be the Military Advisor. Even Kondou-san agrees with us. At least he didn't say anything when we brought it up."

"He's not supposed to say anything," Toshi pointed out. "He has to remain neutral."

"I feel sure he agrees with us," Souji insisted. He planted his feet firmly apart, hands on hips, frowning down at the other man. Toshi had an agonisingly splendid view of what he wanted most in the world at the moment.

"Well, maybe… if…" he started hesitantly.

Souji smiled, apparently relenting, then knelt and performed for only a tantalisingly few seconds that other operation which was so precious to Toshi. Then he slid his mouth up Toshi's chest and to his ear. He whispered.

"No!" Toshi exploded, shaking his head vehemently.

He whispered again, telling Toshi what he would not do ever again if he did not grant him this one, tiny, insignificant favour. He groaned: Souji's hand was busy.

Then he told him what he _would_ do if he did just that tiny little thing for him.

"Alright," he gave in.

"When?"

"Soon. Not now, of course. Soon."

And Souji laughed, a bright sound, descending from a high note like bells.

**The End

* * *

**

Right. This is the tragic result when too much caffeine overwhelms the author's mind. Late night (early morning) madness! Sorry if the characters (and author) are OOC. This is a one-time madness. I promise it would not happen again.

My titles are really bad. They either contain 'The' or bad alliteration. Suggestions for a better title would definitely be considered.

Anyone wants to read the sequel about Toshi's fateful encounter with dear Itou-sensei? Tell me, yes?

Meanwhile, please review if you are reading this. Yes. _Collapses from sheer exhaustion._


	7. Conflicting Confessions

Disclaimer: What? They are real people. I own nothing. _Pause. _This is just formality, I am sure. No one here owns anything!

* * *

Summary: AKA The Messed-up World of H/O or How They Finally Got It Going. I was laughing all the way as I wrote this. There is something perverse about Kichi's messy involvement in… … 

**CONFLICTING CONFESSIONS**

Toshi sat, eyes closed, unable to look at the man he had inspired to take up the autocratic ideal of the Shogunate. That of all things he did not wish responsibility for. And then Souji was kneeling in front of him and through the roaring in his head, he heard the animated chatter, "… and the place was sooooo bright, Hijikata-san! The atmosphere was amazing and… " Here, there was a thoughtful pause. "Hijikata-san? What's wrong?"

_What's wrong?_ Toshi's mind howled in impotent disbelief. His hips were beginning to get arthritic and he suddenly felt like the old man he was becoming, getting to his feet and giving an impression of immense silent menace, the menace of accusation.

"The Shimabara! Of all the places in Kyoto, you had to make a total fool of yourself there and now you have the nerve to ask me what's wrong?" Toshi said, incredulous, fluent in his fury. He suddenly stopped and turned on Souji. "Did you come here to tell me to count my blessings, Souji? Am I supposed to be grateful to you for attempting to relieve the Shinsengumi of its hefty financial burdens?"

Okita Souji pulled himself to his full, if modest, height and looked frankly at the other man, whom he had idolised in childhood and whom he still wanted to love, in spite of everything. "I have no idea of what you are saying, Hijikata-san. Sannan asked me to come along with him today."

Toshi went very still. When he spoke, his voice had the quiet, nearly calm sound of viciously controlled anger. "Ah. Your task then is to shame me for making such a fuss."

Souji found there was nothing he could say and, helpless, let the silence linger.

"Tell me, Souji," Toshi asked, the voice caressing now, brows up, mouth open slightly, waiting for confirmation. "How much did it cost them? That – that – Teahouse? How much did they pay you?" He watched him carefully.

Souji's eyes lit up dangerously. Comprehension dawning, Toshi knew. Then just as suddenly as it had appeared, the spark was extinguished.

"No," Souji said softly, with a smile that left his eyes untouched. "I don't have as many admirers as you, Hijikata-san, thus I would have to be the one forking out money for such pleasures."

Toshi endured his gaze as long as he could. When he did turn away finally, he could not close out the soft savage voice.

"I'm not sure if you already knew this, but you shouldn't expect others to accomplish what you can't even hope to achieve. That's all I have to say for now. Goodnight."

When Toshi looked up, he was gone.

* * *

And crouching among the beams above the room, Kichisaburou of Togotoya fame snickered. He waited until the hallway was clear before landing lightly in front of the Fukuchou's screen doors. He stared at his reflection in the polished wood, tidied his hair, rearranged his yukata. He tried a smile. It came out rather peculiar. He tried again. 

"Hijikata-san," he whispered aloud.

The voice sounded peculiar too.

"Hijikata-san!"

That was better. Both the smile and the voice were coming out better now. He rehearsed it several times more. Then he raised his fist and rapped the screen door softly.

* * *

"Who's there?" 

A muffled voice from the hallway called, "It's me, Hijikata-san."

Both hesitant and concerned, Toshi tightened the sash around his waist and edged toward the screen door. _Hadn't he left in a fit of anger just moments before? What is he doing outside his room now?_ Reluctantly sliding open the door, Toshi peered out into the dark hallway.

Souji stood there, and as far as Toshi could tell his visitor was alone, unless of course the rest of the first unit was waiting just down the hall.

"What do you want?"

"I need to talk."

"Didn't you just storm out of my room claiming there was no reasoning with me?"

There was an unguarded flash of genuine bewilderment, and then the shrouded expression was back on his face. "Let me in. Please?"

"It's late," Toshi replied, still not opening up. Souji remained silent, unmoving.

I shouldn't be doing this, Toshi thought. It was a whole can of worms, insidious ones at that. A mess that was sure to grow only worse if he opened the door. Yet even though Toshi wanted to tell him to go away, to leave him alone, he could not force those words out. He found his feet compulsively moving away, stepping aside, and pulling back the screen door. In an instant the shorter figure darted through the opening. Toshi closed the door, turned around, and stared at the back of his late-night guest. It would not be the first time, but this was different. Nervously scratching his naked chest, Toshi reached down, firmly held the knotted sash in place around his waist.

Looking away from Toshi, Souji was reclining against the table. His head was hung; his position seemed calculated to show as much of the smooth slim legs as could be considered decent.

"So talk." Toshi demanded, refusing to be distracted.

"I… I… " he began, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. It was really stupid of me."

Toshi sighed. "It's not a good idea. Who knows what those perverted men could have done to you."

"Or what I could have done to them." Not bothering to rearrange his yukata, as he normally would have done, Souji moved languidly across the room on all fours. He stopped at Toshi's feet, his voice quivering as he lifted his head and faced him for the first time. "It's kind of complicated, and I really don't know how much I should tell you."

Toshi was suddenly wide-awake. He could not steady himself, nor make his body quit trembling: he knew where this was heading. Go back to the door. Slide it open. Tell Souji to get out of here.

"But – " Souji continued lazily, fingers trailing up and down his calves. "I happen to like my men mature."

His burning gaze grazed Toshi's half-naked body, and a prick of adrenaline shot his heart. Kat-chan said the chemistry of homosexuality was simply floating in the air, pheromones just lingering in the headquarters waiting for the men to pick up on them. Toshi sensed it otherwise. If the eyes met and held for a fraction of a second too long, he could see the truth. And looking into the violet orbs before him, he saw not only his sexuality but also the unfamiliar depth of lust.

He felt the eyes on his chest, where his muscles were the thickest. Then he sensed the stare upon his biceps, which were hardened by years of swordsmanship. And next Souji's eyes were following the thin trail of hair that zipped down his stomach, over his navel, and on down beneath the yukata.

A moment later, Toshi felt the hands on his sash, and then his robe was tugged totally open. Shit, he thought. Here he was, all of him, including the extent of his arousal, totally exposed, as easy to read as a book.

"Close your eyes, Fukuchou," Souji said softly. "Just take from me."

He could not help but reach out, open his eyes as Souji's right hand skimmed over his stomach. What was this? This was definitely different from what he was used to. It felt lopsided, as if he was being used, nothing more.

Surprised at himself, amazed that he was breaking away, he grabbed at his robe, pulling it shut. His body surging with desire, his head churning with confusion, he pushed open the screen door and rushed out into the open courtyard. Breathing as hard as if he had just killed a dozen of the Choshu ingrates, he wondered if the silence would be broken and a naked Souji would join him, wondered, too, if that was what he wanted after all.

Nothing happened however.

He was not disturbed as he sat, desperately trying to regain his wits and control. Control? Forget about that, he thought. For so long he had been so tight, so worried. He had to let go; nothing mattered, not anymore. But did that mean giving in to his lust? Maybe. Maybe eventually. Looking up at the clear night sky, he came to a silent decision.

He did not notice the dark figure as it nimbly leapt onto the rooftop and disappeared into the dark night.

* * *

In his room, Souji just lay there on the futon, his eyes open, his body not moving beneath the cotton blanket. For a moment he considered trying to catch up on his practice, but then decided against it almost once. 

It was hopeless. He groaned in frustration and rolled over onto his stomach. Visiting the ladies in the Shimabara district was not prohibited by Shinsengumi laws, was it? Even Sannan was there with him! It just isn't fair, he pouted, thumping his legs lightly against the soft futon. Hijikata-san himself had visited those quarters often enough. Wait, even Heisuke, who was younger, had… …

Souji sat up immediately, his senses alert as he strained to catch more sounds coming from the adjacent room. He stood up silently and unsheathed his katana, the moonlight playing on the sharp blade.

He moved cautiously into the darkened hallway and braced himself as he pushed the screen door of his friend's room. "Hijikata-san, are you… "

But the room was empty. The moonlight illuminated the room with a faint glow. The door leading to the courtyard was open all the way, so clearly the intruder had escaped through the courtyard. Could Hijikata-san possibly have him cornered?

He was scanning the room for clues when he heard it, darting steps behind him. He spun around, and then released the grip on his katana.

"Hijikata-san, I thought there was an intruder in your room. Did you see him?"

Toshi stared at him, "What are you talking about? You were here all along, weren't you?" He was moving toward him, his steps slow but sure and as Souji looked into his eyes, the intensity frightened him. "I'm sorry about what happened just now."

He was not sure he liked this. Something was different, not so easy, and he stepped back, felt the wall at his back, realised he was cornered.

"It's alright, really." With a nervous laugh and his voice surprisingly faint, Souji added jokingly, "As if I weren't exhausted enough, you wore me out."

"It was great, wasn't it?"

They were now less than a foot apart. Souji felt the other man's deep, hot breath on his neck and then trickling downward. He inhaled the now-familiar odour of tobacco smoke.

"Hijikata-san, wha – "

"Sh."

"But, Hiji – "

"Souji." Toshi said in a hushed voice as he closed in.

"I'm… I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

"Just put down your katana."

"But… "

Then Souji knew it was a helpless situation, that there was no stopping it. He sheathed his katana, set it carefully on the low table and closed his eyes as he saw the hand reaching out slowly. An instant later he felt the strong fingers of the other man wrap around the back of his neck. Souji gasped, then leaned over, pressing his cheek against Toshi's thick wrist. He opened his mouth, softly bit at the skin. Then he sensed Toshi's right hand on the other side of his neck, and as it kneaded and massaged him, Souji's breath began to come in short, deep gasps.

He reached up with his right hand, wanting to touch Toshi, satisfy, please him in some way as well. But just as his hand descended on Toshi's shoulder, the man removed it, gently pressing it down and back against the wall.

Souji tumbled into a nervous kind of bliss as the fingers massaged his neck, the back of his head. With a deep, gentle, and circular motion, the steady fingers worked their way over Souji's ears, through his hair, up his scalp. He dreamily opened his eyes, and saw how intently Toshi was inspecting him.

Trapped in the corner of the room, held captive by a deep surge of desire, Souji moaned, feeling the hands next on his forehead, next softly descending to his temples. A finger brushed over his lips, and he lunged at it, bit and sucked on it. But Toshi would not be entrapped, and slowly, steadily, his hand moved down.

He never liked to be alone; the spoilt child in him needed comfort, yearned to be held, warmed, taken care of. Hesitantly raising his fingers, he was more than eager to explore: he was desperate to. His fingers sensed the heaviness of Toshi's yukata. And then, almost simultaneously, Souji felt a hand on his waist, a sure hand that rubbed his skin, then reached for the knot of his sash and untied it.

**The End

* * *

**

And the rest, as they say, is up to the readers' active imagination. I left it at that because the coward in me wanted to retain my account since I don't know where else to put up the fanfics.

If some parts sound a wee bit like the Bridging Chapter (TK fic), you have my apologies. In fact, this was actually Phase 4 of Elemental Evolution. _Crosses fingers and prays no SEED fans read this._

What brought about this fic? Well… remember episode 16-17 where the unforgettable Kichisaburou appeared in the Okita Impersonator arc? Yes, yes, that's it. I vividly remember Toshi saying something to this effect: "Souji? It can't be. He was in my room until late at night." And then there were the naughty thoughts: what _were_ they doing?

The fic is set in episode 17: just before the scene with Tetsu and Souji enjoying the view of the night sky.

I couldn't stop laughing as I wrote the fic, so maybe it could actually be called a humour fic. There is something perverse about Kichi bringing them together, in the most unexpected way.

Please do review. **_Review!_**


	8. Chrysanthemum

**Summary**: The reasons why 1) Souji was seldom set to work as a spy. 2) He was so antagonistic towards Ryouma.

Set in the days before Tetsu's arrival. The parts in italics cover the mysterious gap in the last chapter of book 5. How exactly did Soujirou make his first kill? Words in bold were spoken in English.

**Disclaimer**: First off, I do not own any of the characters except Yoshimura and maybe the plot (What?). This is entirely fictional and historical Okita had probably never set his eyes upon the legendary blade.

* * *

**CHRYSANTHEMUM**

For a while Souji sat playing idly with the dog. He was in a dreamy, suspended state of mind, when all at once he saw a man come hurtling down the lane towards him on some makeshift cart. Souji jumped to one side. There was a squealing of brakes, a flurry of kicked up dust and the man collapsed in a pile of legs and spinning wheels on the other side of the lane. His hat tumbled off and Souji saw the dreadlocks.

"Ryouma-san!" Souji gaped at him. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Sakamoto Ryouma got to his feet, brushing off dust and grass. "No time for explanations, Oki-Boy. **Come on. Quick!** They are almost here!"

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know. Anywhere. Just away from here. **Anywhere but here!**"

Souji scrambled after him, leaving the resigned dog behind. He laughed. "Tell me, Ryouma-san, why am I doing this again?"

Ryouma looked over his shoulder with a quick grin; he had moved ahead on the path, walking now through waist-high bracken. "**Firstly**, there is no love lost between the Shinsengumi and the Mimawarigumi. **Secondly**, only a **dull man** would turn down an offer made by me."

"I will never know what exactly you are trying to say, Ryouma-san," Souji said cheerfully. "But it was nice of you to come, considering."

"Oh, well," Ryouma shrugged. He seemed about to say something else, but changed his mind, jumping up and running off along the weaving path. "**Come on!**"

They careered along in a happy, lunatic chase through the city: over slated roofs, down into dark alleys, in and out of little shops, and quite often, through the busy streets. They had come a long way from the river and were now in a quiet section of the city. Suddenly, Ryouma skidded, tumbling off the roof. Thinking he had fallen, Souji went to help but Ryouma grabbed his arm and hauled him into an empty room.

"Well, do you think they have given up?" Souji said, his face damp with sweat, yukata clinging stickily to his chest.

"Sasaki will not be too **happy** about that," Ryouma said, his eyes twinkling. "I had a packet of laxative in my pocket, you see, and happened to be passing his troop during their meal break. When they were not looking, I sneaked into the kitchen and stuck half a packet into the huge pot of tea and gave it a good stir. And while I was at it I poured some into their food too. You know the way the food is always left unattended in the kitchen? A **mistake**: they should keep a closer watch on them."

The tension inside Souji snapped like a breaking spring, and he began to laugh. Once he had started, it was hard to stop. "Imagine their faces," he gasped, "when they go tearing off after you and – PFFT!"

They collapsed in a wild fit of chortling mirth, roaring, tottering, clutching at one another. Ryouma took off his dark glasses and wiped them. "It is going to make everything worse in the long run, though."

"Worth it," Souji said. Controlled again, he gave Ryouma a sideways glance. "But it all seems rather rehearsed, don't you think?"

"It's a matter of taking calculated risks, really," Ryouma said, putting the glasses back on and retreating once more into inscrutability. Looking around, he grinned. "Prepare to be **dazzled.**"

He removed one mat from the floor of the room and reached into a two-foot opening cut in the boards under it. When he finally straightened, Souji noticed that he held a long object wrapped in layers of red silk.

"So that is the katana you have been talking about!" Souji exclaimed as he bounced on his heels, barely able to contain his excitement. "I am dess-err-e-de… whatever that means. Lemme see it lemmelemmelemme – "

"Hah! Behold the legendary Chrysanthemum blade." Ryouma cried as he unwrapped the last layer with theatrical flourish.

Souji stood and took two swift steps toward him.

He was probably half his size but Sakamoto Ryouma, veteran of the Kyoto streets and bona fide escape artiste, was startled into retreating. Feeling the wall against his back, he covered his embarrassment with a smile and held out the katana with both hands. "A handsome blade, isn't it?" he offered, trying to defuse whatever emotion was working on the man in front of him. "You've seen it before, I guess?"

Souji backed away and looked at Ryouma for a long moment, as though calculating the other man's response. The daylight behind his hair lit it up, and the contrast hid his expression. If the room had been brighter or if Ryouma had known him better, he might have recognized a freakish solemnity that preceded any statement Souji expected to induce hilarity, or outrage. Souji hesitated and then found the precise phrase he wanted.

"A much touted blade," he said agreeably, stepping forward again with a careless smile on his lips. He stroked the naked hilt reverently, eyes shut in seeming bliss. "It would be a shame if we couldn't test its keenness. But for that we need a body."

"A real body?" Ryouma's voice betrayed his alarm. He began to look around the hushed, eerie room, searching out the dark corners into which the sunlight did not penetrate, eyes darting to the nearest screen door. The window was out of question.

"Haven't you seen a corpse?" The words had come from Okita's mouth, but the tone and pitch were suddenly different. And then a slow, incomprehensible smile rose straining to his lips. "Are you afraid to look at one?"

"No. But where would you get such a thing?" In fact, he was more frightened by the man's feverish, possessed eyes than by looking at dead bodies. He sensed an ominous incompatibility between his grin and those eyes.

No. Sakamoto Ryouma was not a coward who shrank from challenges. He drew a pistol from his haori and cocked it.

* * *

_His objective was to immobilise the mysterious assassin with a deep wound and to let Hijikata-san take him alive. At first, the dwarfish man regarded Soujirou as a mere stripling of nine, but the katana was upon him like a swarm of locusts, and after just ten parries he had been overpowered and stabbed in the leg. Soujirou then stabbed him in the upper right arm and before his adversary could recover, jumped on his chest and straddled him. He heard a gasp of despair and frustration from below. _

"_We're going to take you alive."_

_When the man heard the words "take you alive," he began to writhe and thrash violently, in spite of his wounds. Soujirou looked around for Hijikata-san, but the man remained where he had been the past minutes, slumped against the rock as if paralysed. Without help, Soujirou could no longer hope to take him prisoner. And anyway the desire to feel the sharp blade cut through soft flesh was overwhelming. Reluctantly, he pressed the point of his blade against the assasin's throat. _

"_We'll take you alive," Soujirou repeated, his resolve wavering._

_But the assassin snapped, "Get on with it, boy!"_

_The man had not even had time to cry out: his throat was pierced with a single thrust. Soujirou had seen the hatred-filled eyes and the mouth, open and ready to spit and then, an instant later, the face of death, frozen, the features twisted in agony. _

_He pulled mindlessly at the protruding blade, but it proved more difficult to remove it neatly from where it had been stuck in the neck bone than it had been to stab a living man. Giving a last heave, he extracted the blade and was mildly surprised by the ensuing fountain of crimson that drenched him._

_The rapture turned to horror; his mind flooded with untold anguish. For a time he stood in a daze, pursuing the traces of sanity. Then he lifted his head and howled, shattering the deathly silence._

* * *

Okita was light and fast, and he was confident of his ability with a katana. There had been absolutely no warning when he abruptly kicked up a mat and swung around, the blade singing furiously. In the midst of the chaos, a bullet flew past the bridge of his nose, missing it by a hair. Instantly there was a second bullet, but this time, he heard it cut through the air. He averted his face and leaned back reflexively. Even so, he did not come off unscathed – the bullet grazed the right side of his face and scraped away some of his right ear. 

The katana, a gift from a renegade noble, had been made by the famous Norimune, but the boy's skill was even more impressive than the weapon. Ryouma dodged the horizontal swipe and gave a low whistle as he watched the screendoor through which he had intended to make his escape collapse in a decrepit heap. At that moment, Ryouma glimpsed the flash of another blade close behind him. Two of his men who had been waiting in the antechamber had drawn their katana simultaneously and now advanced together with the tips aligned.

"Sakamoto-sensei, you have to leave now," one of the men cried, "the first and third squads of the Shinsengumi have arrived with the vice-commander."

"Yoshimura-san!"

"I beg you, sensei! There is no time!"

Sakamoto was brave, but not suicidal. He understood the situation; more importantly, he understood his men. The moment he set his foot on the sill of the window, Souji dashed forward and struck a blow with his katana. The man named Yoshimura blocked it, startled by the savage attack from a figure that had been standing transfixed in a corner six feet away. Seeing that his first blow had cut deeply into the man's shoulder, Souji attacked again, this time angling the blade just so. Having struck home with one thrust to the neck, he pulled out the katana and backed away so quickly that he was scarcely touched by the spurting blood.

Even before the first man hit the floor, Souji attacked the second. _Time was the essence._ Ryouma must be faraway by now: he would be damned if all these months of planning had gone to waste. Overawed, the wretched man had no real will to fight, but stood his ground out of determination to keep his master out of danger. Averting his eyes from the flash of Souji's blade, he parried two or three times; but it was a resigned, apologetic, tearful sort of resistance. Souji struck the katana from his hand, kicked him down, and stabbed him in the chest.

Quick as he had been, he must have consumed precious minutes to accomplish this much. As far as he could tell, his plan had ground to a grinding halt. From his vantage point at the window, he could see Ryouma making his way across the rooftops, waving at him and making rude signs.

It frustrated him no end. He smashed the fragile katana against a stone dais and watched as the blade splintered around his feet. "A pity," he said ambiguously.

He heard voices approaching from behind and the footsteps of men running towards the room down the corridor.

* * *

_The long autumn night had turned, if possible, even darker. Toshi was entranced. It was only later that he understood the emotion that had seized him; at the time, he forgot himself completely. It was an agitation that he had never experienced before, an inexpressible excitement. Juxtaposed with the mutilated body, the boy glowed with the pride and joy of living, the embodiment of flawless beauty. And his expressionless face, precisely because it was so girlish and unaffected, now appeared to be brimming with the most cynical detachment._

_He thought he would never tire of gazing at the enigma before him. To Toshi, he was irresistibly beautiful. _

_It was common, in any case, for a naïve child suddenly to regard an adult as god-like, and so he could imagine what impression he made on Soujroui with his promise. In the interval, then, the feelings between the pair had changed. _

_The katana with the Chrysanthemum crest was destroyed: a pity, yes, but the boy had insisted on it._

_However eager he may have been in his pursuit of a fair and just world, Toshi wondered if he had the courage, when confronted with the child's grief and remorse, to debase him again._

* * *

He was alone at the compound that afternoon, making minor changes to the next month's roster when he received a note from Yamazaki. The message was short and the writing hurried, and he wondered if Yamazaki had – not deliberately, of course – left out certain crucial details. Nevertheless, he had found the directions sufficient. 

The troops were directed to search every room and take no survivors. He soon found himself running alone in the opposite direction from the men, about ten metres down a long passage, then a turn to the left and then to the right, which led to a matted corridor three or five metres long. This was the darkest spot of all, with rooms on one side and wood sliding doors facing the garden on the other.

Room after room: there was nothing straight that could be made curved, nothing plain that could be decorated nothing white that could be brilliant. The very air was embellished! It was, he thought crazily, the most spectacularly vulgar place he had ever been in. It looked and smelled like a cheap whorehouse, except the riches were real and each piece of furniture probably cost a village's yearly earnings.

The rooms were deserted, and he wondered if he had misinterpreted Yamazaki's directions. But he found to his relief that the door (or what was left of it) to the last room was open and Souji was waiting inside, standing alone in the plain and empty room, unscented and unfurnished. It was astonishing. He was so relieved to be out of the visual, olfactory and auditory confusion that he very nearly sank to his knees.

"Souji, what happened?" he asked as he stumbled into the room, startled by how frightened he was. Then he drew one breath at the sight of the spilt blood and in the next, drew on detachment as deliberately as he stepped over a corpse. "You idiot," he commented dryly, taking the other man's chin and inspecting his face from side to side, gentleness belying his tone, "losing that ear would upset the symmetry of the face. Don't laugh. You'll start the bleeding again."

He had seen enough of this kind of thing to check the torso for abrasions and broken bones; there were none. Sighing, he reached into his robes and brought out a tiny jar. As Souji stood there, letting Toshi clean his face up and pull the cuts together, he spoke quietly.

"I am quite useless after all, Hijikata-san, you would do better to replace the captain of the first troop."

"Souji…" Toshi frowned down at him, fingers still rubbing the bloodied protrusion of flesh and cartilage. He hoped Souji would not notice how badly his hands were shaking, but Souji's eyes slid away.

"He got away." Souji continued, by way of explanation. "Sakamoto Ryouma. He was an interesting man. Nice but dangerous. I should have waited longer, but I couldn't hold back."

Toshi helped him with the robes, pulling it back up his arms, careful not to touch him unnecessarily. He was the colour of Cochin pearls, Toshi decided, but said merely, "You're right: you should have practiced more restraint. Even so, he would have been difficult to pin down, we would just have to keep our eyes wide open in the future. And," Toshi straightened the collar of the blood-flecked yukata, "don't ever forget, Souji, that you owe Kondou-san all that you have today, and that the Shinsengumi needs you, even if no one else does."

Souji felt as if the sun had burst out. "Thank you," he said, his face a picture of befuddled gratification. He looked up with a grin and continued, raising his voice slightly. "I know of someone, though, who is perfect for this job. Hajime-san wouldn't mind losing a ear – it would have matched his name quite well. Don't you agree, Hajime-san?"

"Assuming that to be true, I guess you wouldn't mind getting your nose lobbed off and served with sake and soba." Saitou Hajime deadpanned as he stepped down from the alcove.

"You are just as stealthy as that Yamazaki." Toshi said, vaguely embarrassed. "When did you arrive?"

"I was behind you all this while."

One of these days, Toshi thought savagely, ignoring the peals of laughter behind him, those two brats are going to pay for their insubordination.

**The End **

* * *

I know there is the tendency to see Souji as this very sweet being, and I am being sacrilegious here by portraying him as this frightful thing. Trust me, it wasn't supposed to be this way. Ryouma and Souji were supposed to be acquaintances in this story and have a laugh or two. Well, the fic was to end with Souji snubbing Ryouma's offer and them parting on somewhat strained terms, but there was not supposed to be bloodshed. Then, when I finally came to the pre-planned ending (the part where Ryouma took out the katana), events took a sudden turn for _interesting_. A flashback to an incident that wished to be forgotten. Two people died ignominious deaths, and I can't even justify them. Toshi and the respective squadrons came into the picture. Toshi just had to be in every fic. _Sweatdrops _It just justifies my view that one-shots should not be dragged beyond 2 weeks lest new ideas jump onto the overloaded bandwagon. 

_Shakes heads. _Then again, that's precisely the fun of learning about the character as one writes. All in all, it was an exhilarating experience.

Thanks to my brother for his never-ending patience and interesting insights (symmetry, anyone? Heh…). Thanks to Fignae and XXX for the wonderful inputs.

_Shrugs._ Please do leave reviews, but I am not going to beg for them.

Notes:

1) As far as I know, the Shinsengumi was not the only peacekeeping group in Kyoto. I forgot the name of the other groups. I think it is the Mimawarigumi. I know the hierarchy changes are rapid and confusing. For the benefit of my overworked mind, we shall stick to the PMK hierarchy, yes?

2) The katana that Ryouma presented was not the Kiku-ichimonji. That one was broken and left somewhere deep in the forest. No. This was another blade forged by the same swordsmith and imprinted with the same Chrsanthemum crest.

3) The Promise. Yes. Ahem. The promise made by Toshi was that he would have need of Souji's strength in time to come. In other words, Souji needed a reason to live and Toshi had given him just that.


End file.
